


Bought in, sold out

by Kay245



Series: And I still hear the sound of the pack when they howl [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys understands nothing, F/M, Jon made bad decisions, Past Abuse, Pre-Relationship, Scheming for the greater good, bamf Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-22 21:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11975838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kay245/pseuds/Kay245
Summary: The Lords of the North have not taken well Jon's decision to bend the knee. As Daenerys and Jon try to consolidate their position among the dissidence of some of the bannermen, arrive Jaime Lannister with his sword but no men, as the last heir of House Lannister is currently a bastard in Cersei's belly. Unless a match is done and maybe they can gather the support of the Lannisters? Despite Jon's mixed feeling about this, he agrees to put forward the proposition to Sansa. Sansa is given a week to think on it, a week during which all come to her trying to sway her decision for the good of the fight.After a week, Sansa has her answer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, 
> 
> First I don't own GOT characters. I'm not a die hard fan and I've mostly fallen down the rabbit hole through the fandom. As a result, my replay of some of the things might not be totally in line with canon.
> 
> Also, while Daenerys is the antagonist in this story, she's not exactly evil. She doesn't understand why the North wouldn't bend the knee and sees Sansa as a dangerous adversary for her throne. She also has a skewed view of forced marriages and is convinced that Sansa could maybe find love beside Jaime like she did with Drogo. So, she has some good intentions at heart, and it doesn't hurt that it would also remove a powerful player from the North side.
> 
> As for Jon and Sansa, this is pre-relationship as neither of them are quite aware of their burgeoning feelings. Or at least, are not quite able to put words on it. Also, Jon's relationship with Dany puts quite a damper on things, as well as the fact that none of them are yet aware of Jon's true lineage. 
> 
> Well, anyway, I hope this will be OK and not too OOC.

Sansa swept her hands down herself, making sure that her dress was unruffled from the throat down. Her armour. She’d worked days and nights this last week, making sure it would be ready. Her statement. Grey as steel, black as night with just the touch of ivory to punctuate the details, hinting at her lost innocence. It covered her entirely. That was the point. 

 

Arya was still and watchful behind her, her shadow every time she went out of her rooms. Except, of course, for when she was stalking Jaime Lannister, the very man they wanted to marry her off to, in order to secure the loyalty of House Lannister. Brienne, in comparison to her kin, seemed almost simmering in disgust and silent anger. Sansa smiled at her two friends, knowing that she had their support. She held her chin high, knowing that she shouldn’t show a sliver of fear. Afterall, dragons fed on it. 

 

The door was opened and she entered the high hall. The King’s and Queen’s council was assembled and she couldn’t help but feel some revulsion at the sight. It looked like a tribunal. A mockery of trial, all waiting to judge her on her inadequacy and forcefulness at refusing a marriage that would benefit all. Except her, of course.

 

She took her time perusing the one after the other. If she was to be the focus of their grotesque show, let they see her perform. Of all the Queen’s men, she was surprised to see that it was Ser Jorah that looked the most uneasy. Tyrion’s empathy, she would have hoped for but not expected. But, no, her former husband obviously shared no lost affection for her. At least, not enough to consider her opinion in matters that concerned her the most. The queen’s knight posture, however,  _ that _ was quite jarring. It made it even more burning that a man so devoted to his queen as the knight, would be the most ashamed at their offer. Deliberating not to ponder why a former slaver would be the only one feeling wrongly about indenturing her to another man, she turned her eyes to the most stunning sight in the room. The beautiful, ethereal Daenerys acted the demure Queen, forced to take difficult decisions for the sake of her kingdom. In that instant, Sansa realised that she’d never hated her more.

 

She let her gaze slide away before the emotion could fully rise to the surface. She couldn’t afford to make this a duel between her and the Southern queen. Her own person and fate couldn’t be the reason for another clash with the powerful. She had no choice but avoiding making the same mistake as Father and Robb. She needed to be smarter. Because in the end, no one could protect her. 

The thought steered her eyes to the last person who swore to protect her. Not that she expected Jon Snow to be able to do that. She thought, though, that he wouldn’t discard her as a burdening liability as soon as he’d got the support of the dragon queen. The betrayal had hurt beyond belief. Him not listening to her had been irritating. Him leaving to the South, worrying. His raven about his bending the knee, frustrating. Even the confirmation of him laying with the beautiful sovereign had only been sickening. But  _ this _ . This shadowed  _ everything _ . Joffrey’s taunts. Ramsay’s humiliations. None of those men had been able to reach so deep in her chest and harm so thoroughly her soul. Not too long before, she would have been sure that she wouldn’t bear to look at him. Yet, here she was, gazing upon the brooding figure of the man. Maybe she was still a foolish girl, she internally almost despaired.  _ No _ , she strengthened, I _ know how not to act like one. _ She boxed away her forlorn feelings and instead, observed. Jon’s anguished frown, his eyes downcast in regret, was much more genuine than his companion’s, of course.  _ This you can leverage _ , whispered her mind, sharpened by years of Littlefinger’s tutoring.

 

As for her intended, she didn’t even spare him a glance. He probably was already drunk, even more so if he knew how much a pawn he was in the game she played against the Queen of Fire.

 

After that, she finally looked over at the Lords of the North. As for them, well, while slightly uncomfortable at Queen Daenerys’ display, they stood moody but resolute. She took her time weighing down everyone’s attitude and gestures, figuring out their motives and secret thoughts. The Lords, they mattered more than the queen’s power displays, more than Jon’s turning back on her. The queen’s and king’s party might have dismissed them as a silent and unimportant party. Sansa, however, after months of sitting with them on council, knew better. They were  _ key _ .

 

“Lady Sansa. The Lords are all assembled here to know about the offer that has been made to you. We await your answer.” Finally said Queen Daenerys, breaking Sansa’s musings.

 

Slipping back into her Red Wolf persona, she focused her gaze on the Queen. She could see a glimmer of sadistic pleasure at her power over her. Sansa had heard about the dark passion that led the young woman to arrogance and hasty decisions. Obviously, the mother of dragons was sure she’d been able to rid herself of a potential threat. Daenerys was a child compared to her, though. She hadn’t learnt, seldom having to pay for her mistakes. Sansa, instead, had paid for her own in tears, blood and pieces of self.  _ Time to play the game _ , whispered Cersei’s voice in her mind.

 

She made a halting gesture and bowed her head. Never in submission though.

 

“My Lady. Yes, I won’t make those Lords wait any longer. Yet, I feel I need to explain myself at my delay. May I address our men before giving you my reply?”

 

Daenerys opened her mouth to answer. In bitter impatience if one took in her irritated face. However, Jon interrupted her:

 

“Of course, Sansa. You always have the right to speak.” Jon said, looking reproachfully at Daenerys. The queen sustained his gaze but relented when finally, he covered her hand.

 

Sansa made sure to look at each one of their bannermen before starting to speak, waiting for the slight murmurs to die. And then she took a deep breath:

 

“Dear Lords. I’m here before you because I’ve been given a choice. A choice, the Queen and the King said, to revenge against Queen Cersei who kept me hostage during my youth. A choice to unite our people against our common enemy. A chance at the future, a house, children...” she started, emphasizing the promises given to her by the queen by slow and soft gestures meant to enhance the tale-like quality of her story.

 

“So they promised me, a Knight, strong and powerful, who will protect me.” she said.

 

Sansa could measure how her audience was enthralled. Yet, she felt almost wistful that her love of poetry and literature when she was younger would now serve as such. 

 

“But no one can protect me. This I know.” she said the barely-above-a-whisper words echoing loudly in the silent hall. She looked down in silent defeat, blatant demureness forged from years at King’s Landing’s court.

 

Knowing that the high hall waited with bated breath for her next words, Sansa spun on herself, her hands going to the hidden pull that maintained her dress. She paused and her voice rose as the sea as she kept explaining.

 

“Once already, some who professed to love me, promised me a bright future, a sweet revenge, our people united and a protector. A wedding, the only price for the bargain.” 

 

On her last words, Sansa let her dress drop, revealing her naked, scarred body. The collective gasp that took the assembly had the noise of thousands thunders. She smiled sadly. Now, they would have to face the truth of Ramsay’s psychopathic artistry, the crisscrossing whip marks of split skin on her back and legs creating a dreadful landscape of pain. She turned to them, revealing the silvery lines of hundreds of cuts on her front, making sure they would never forget the horror that they let happen. 

 

“I’m a slow learner, my Lords. But I learn. I won’t be sold again into a match made by players who only see me as a pawn.” she told defiantly, her head high, her eyes blazing and her voice hard as steel.

 

A pin could have dropped in the hall. The look of horror and pity painting shadows and remorse on everybody’s face. Even Daenerys looked shocked and horrified by what she was seeing. After a few seconds, Arya stepped to her and covered her once again with the dress she’d taken from the floor. Yes, they had seen enough, Sansa mentally agreed. As she closed the dress on herself, the room came back to life. Bannermen started whispering among themselves, anger elevating sometimes a few words of anger.

 

“Silence.” Jon roared unexpectedly.

 

The room fell quiet at the growl in his voice. Despite all her rancour, Sansa shivered. The memory of him pummelling Ramsay and manhandling Littlefinger flashed in her mind. Before she shut away the thought, she wondered idly if she’d managed to awaken the wolf in him.

 

“Lady Sansa...” started Daenerys, scrambling to explain herself and diffuse the mess of a situation.

 

“Silence, I said.” repeated Jon, the growl even deeper as he shot a furious glance at his queen.

 

Sansa watched in silence as Daenerys opened her mouth to reply. At Jon’s glare though, she halted. She took a breath and glared back at her lover in silent admonishment at his angry interruption. But Jon didn’t relent. He looked furious and a bit mad with it. Without his eyes leaving Daenerys’ face, he finally stated:

 

“Sansa, we acknowledge your answer and apologise for any anguish we might have caused you. Of course, we won’t impose those kinds of offers on you ever again.” 

 

Cowed, Daenerys faced the room again, a stony look on her face which didn’t quite mask the angry embarrassment at being reprimanded. Jon, seemingly barely satisfied, finally turned toward Sansa. His demeanour changed as soon their eyes met. All of his dangerous fury evaporated, leaving grief and remorse in its stead. Even if she knew it was wrong of her, Sansa couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of satisfaction at the pain and shame in her king’s eyes. He should feel shame, a vindictive part of her whispered. How could he let it come to that? She knew her gaze must have shown her contempt, because he looked brokenly down at this hands. A few seconds later, though, he stood, surprising all around. He quietly made his way toward her and in this moment, Sansa felt as if they were the only ones in the room. She let him approach her silently, mesmerized by his slow stalk and determination. Once in front of her, he dropped to his knees and she swallowed at the remorse displayed in the action:

 

“Dear sister, could you ever forgive me? Name anything that might appease you and it is yours.” he said, the regret painted all over his face darkening his voice. 

 

Sansa swallowed once more and felt almost dirty at how jadedly she leveraged her own scars. _ Oh Jon _ , she thought, y _ ou’re definitely not a politician _ .  _ Don’t you see power you’re giving to me? Don’t you see how you open your flank to any attack I might spring on you? _ Had she been Cersei or Joffrey, she would have asked for the dragon queen’s head. Had she been Littlefinger, she would have asked for nothing and let the disquiet spread until she could profit from it. She mentally shook her head at the notion. She learned from them, true. Was not above a little manipulation herself, either. But whatever dark nature she might have, she didn’t hunger for power nor was drunk on it. She wasn’t  _ them _ . Honour and duty, she’d been taught that. The pack survives, she  _ knew _ this. As she determined the course of action she would follow, she fixed her gaze on the wall, knowing that she couldn’t leave the high hall with the situation she created unresolved. Or all was lost and she wouldn’t even be worth the lowest of whores in Essos. When the little puzzle rearranged itself on her mind, she bowed her head and whispered.

 

“I don’t wish for anything other than what I’ve already bargained.” she said softly as the bannermen strained to hear her. She looked up at them, then. 

 

“Does the North need me to pay once more for its unity against our biggest threat?” She stated, staring coldly at the assembly, letting her gaze bear them down until they lowered their eyes. “Will I be once again short changed by short-sighted quarrels when the Night King is coming for our lives and souls?” she accused, steel in her voice.

 

The men stood silent and then, Lady Lyanna, from her spot declared proudly as she turned to the others: 

 

“You are right, my Lady. And House Mormont will not default. We will stand united in the Long Night. We will not lose ourselves in foolish squabbles. We will ally to the Mother of Dragons. For the North.”  _ For you, _ all could read between the lines. 

 

After that, the men fell upon themselves to pledge fealty to the alliance, their eyes shining with spirit and energy. Sansa, though, couldn’t hear them anymore. She closed her eyes in relief. Her gamble had paid. She’d been able to put to rest the growing dissidence among their rank, rendering moot the point of marrying her into other alliances. As the High Hall started erupting into cheers and proclamations, her head started to turn. Hugging the cover of her dress to her, she left the room, Arya and Brienne behind her.

 

She didn’t look back. Didn’t shed a look at the King in the North who looked at her leaving with eyes full of sorrow and shame. Didn’t even remarked on the queen’s party awed admiration. She left the room, as quick as possible not to be seen running, her breath caught in her throat. As she blindly reached Winterfell’s sentry walk, she finally stopped, letting her fingers curl into the snow resting atop the parapet’s battlement. She watched her hands and closed her eyes as they kept trembling in spite of her efforts.

 

“Are you alright?” asked Arya behind her.

 

At the question, everything slammed back into her. Ramsay, Littlefinger, her ruined body before the Lords. It rose from her stomach.  _ You were so beautiful in your white wedding dress _ . She retched.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so some of you asked for the follow-up with Jon's thought, so here it is. 
> 
> As one can expect, Jon's not feeling very good right now. So there is a lot of brooding and self-loathing. There are also the tiniest hints to his feelings regarding Sansa, but at this point there are only unacknowledged seeds. At this points, he still loves Daenerys even if he is at the moment very cross with her and that this is the unseen beginning of the end of their relationship.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the massive angst in this. :)

After the debacle in the high hall, Jon found himself in a solar with Daenerys and her advisors, Davos having scurried away to calm the Lords and making sure that Ser Jaime left the hall alive. Daenerys and her advisors weren’t paying attention to him and conversed freely. As if he was just another one of them and not from the North, not from the same people who had stood up for Sansa and reiterated their faith in the Stark.  _ But maybe I’m not a Stark anymore _ , he thought darkly.  _ After all I betrayed her, just like the other men.  _ Jon’s hand clenched around the cup he was holding.  _ To her, I must seem just another Littlefinger ready to sell her out at the most convenient opportunity. _ The thought made him almost ill as soon as it occurred. 

 

He had been so sure. So certain that this might have been all Sansa ever wanted. Didn’t he have the assurance of all parties involved? Jaime had sworn on his last honour and his life that never he would think of hurting her. When he’d been dubious of the Lannister’s oath of protecting his sisters, Brienne had vouched for him, unveiling that he was the one to send her to the rescue of Sansa. Tyrion had confirmed that whatever his brother was, he wasn’t a cruel man, maybe the least of all the Lannister siblings. Moreover, he was a man who took his vows seriously, with only the direst circumstances making him renege. And that, Jon knew, was what Sansa had always expected from a Knight in shining armour. 

 

Later on, Dany had told him about her marriage with Drogo. How, at first, she’d thought she’d been just a broodmare for his desires until she realised that he cared genuinely for her. She told him about that first love, of how she’d almost chose to live in a dream where her son and husband would have been alive. The unshed tears in her eyes had been real and that night, in bed, he had kept her close to him trying to soothe the awakened pain of her lost family. With the right man, a marriage of duty would become a marriage of love. There had been Ned’s and Catelyn’s own family of course, but his own existence had cast a shadow and he didn’t care to dwell on this. But if Daenerys had been able to fall in love with a man with whom at first, she hadn’t ever shared a language with, how could Sansa not fall for someone who represented all the things sang about? If the thought had a twinge of bitter jealousy to it, he refused to dwell on it. Afterall, he should have long ago accepted he wasn’t a knight in a shinning armour. He would get past it. That was all.

 

After that, he’d finally seen what Sansa could find in this marriage: peace, her own family, a loyal man. And if an unacknowledged tug in his chest just refused to imagine her being another man’s wife, it just set the idea harder in his head. He couldn’t be selfish and deprive Sansa of a possible future just because a sick part of him wanted to keep her loyalties to him alone. So he finally relented and accepted to consider the proposal. But at a condition, though. That Sansa would be the only one to decide.

 

He felt a fool, now. So sure he was being the selfless and considerate brother that Sansa would have wanted, he hadn’t been able to read her calm and still posture when they had submitted the idea to her. He could still remember her prim attitude when she stood before them, her eyes coyly on her hands. He should have  _ known _ , then. The real Sansa was not prim and proper, the only time she’d been that way was when Littlefinger was near. But, he’d been blinded by the reassurances of other and the lack of a scene, that he’d just felt relief, believing he’d been right. As a result, when she’d asked for one week to think on it, he gladly accepted. Then, there had been Tyrion’s and Daenerys’ meetings with her and coming back thinking they might have won her. He was not stupid, of course, now he could see how she only presented the face they wanted to see: a stoic and rational one to the Hand, a romantic and skittish one to the Queen. But no, he’d remained oblivious.The only time, doubt started to creep in was when Sansa agreed to give her decision during a council with all Lords assembled. However, before a fully formed suspicion could be born, he’d heard about the Kingslayer meeting his sister in the Godswood. The bitter taste it left in his mouth overpowered any lingering second-guessing. 

 

Now, of course, everything was clear. It wasn’t even a matter of the Kingslayer, he knew. No, this was Sansa protecting herself from  _ all  _ and  _ any _ attempt at marrying her off. She’d patiently engineered everything during that week, probably while she’d slaved over that dress. And how did she play them. As he looked through the window at the overcast sky, he couldn’t help a little smirk. Ever the politician, she probably could have organised his murder and pass it as a blessing, had she wished it. But he couldn’t truly resent her. No, the fault lay with him. He’d never listened to her, he bent the knee and gave what she’d fought for to another. Why would she trust him when he was ready to give her to another? The aftertaste it left in his mouth was akin to charred stone.  

 

As he was drowning in his self-loathing, he was abruptly interrupted by an angry question:

 

“Did you know?” asked Daenerys, ire pinching her features.

 

For a moment, he was left speechless, torn between justifying himself and defending his sister. But Daenerys clarified.

 

“Did you know? What that  _ scum _ did to her?” she repeated and Jon felt a whisper of relief realising that Dany was actually angry on Sansa’s behalf. It only lasted for the time his mind took to understand the hidden meaning in her words.

 

“Of course not!” he spat “Do you think I would have even considered this match had I known?” he challenged every one of the people in front of him, knowing that he wasn’t that far from the direwolf of his sigil.

 

A part of him, though, knew the sneer in his voice was unwarranted. He’d told Dany that they reclaimed Winterfell because of what that Bolton’s bastard had done to Sansa. The world started to close in on him when it suddenly dawned on him that he  _ should _ have known. She never talked aloud about it, but everything should have made it obvious.  _ If Ramway wins, I’m not going back there alive _ . He hadn’t wanted to face the truth of those words and settled himself with a vague theoretical assumption of hurt and rape. The body of Sansa flashed in his mind in all its terrible pain and beauty. Breath was becoming more difficult, he had to leave.

 

As he was briskly opening the door out of the room, leaving behind him a stunned Dany and her Lords, he heard a cold but curious voice behind him:

“They say you were enraged when you finally got your hands on the cunt. That you almost pummelled him to death. That after you stopped and the men took him out from the ground, he wasn’t seen alive.” Tyrion stated, the question in his tone obvious.

 

Jon stopped and turned to him. His glare was murderous until he looked down, reigning in his rage. When he looked up again, there was a bit of manic, acid derision in his eyes:

 

“He’d killed my brother, he’d hurt my sister. I would have killed him with my own hands for that alone. Had I known the extent…” he trailed down as fury almost engulfed him again. “But as you stated, I stopped. I didn’t kill him.” he finished, his voice a mirthless taunt.

 

“Then who did?” asked Missandei, perplexed.

 

Jon didn’t answer and it was a voice from behind him. The calm and steady Davos, who was just arriving in the hallway, answered:

 

“Lady Stark. She reunited him with his hounds. They hadn’t eaten in seven days.”

  
As shock slammed once again into the Queens’ retinue, Jon took the opportunity to leave. He ran to the Godswood, the brittle, hurtful thought pursuing him.  _ I should have known _ .


	3. Chapter 3

The woods were eerily quiet. Snow a deep blanket soiled here and there by fallen blood red leaves. Jon felt he still couldn’t quite catch his breath. And his heart almost stopped when he saw a grey figure next to the weirwood where all Starks would go when needing time and space alone. The figure turned and he felt relief at seeing the small cunning face of Arya. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face the sister he so carelessly hurt. As Arya’s furious eyes pierced him, though, he couldn’t help but let out a pitiful question. 

“Is she alright?’ he asked at his sister.

Arya’s cruel smirk pained him.

“She’s Sansa. She’s learned how to live not being alright.” she answered, her voice cold and almost detached. 

As he could feel guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders, Jon wanted nothing more than to be far away from all of this. It was an acute irony at how much he had longed for Winterfell in the years he’d spent on the wall. Now that he was back in his childhood home, he could only see the shadows of the past bittering further the truth of the present. He sat heavily on the flat stone at the heart tree, trying to recapture the sense of belonging that he’d sparingly felt during his childhood. Suddenly, he missed his younger sister. Not the Arya glowering at him with her piercing eyes. No, this person was not her. But, himself, wasn’t he also a stranger? Didn’t he sorely hurt another sister for political gain?

“I’m sorry, I thought…” he started, as remorse and melancholy overwhelmed him.

Arya shook her head, interrupting him.

“Aya, Aye, we know. The good of the kingdom. The Alliance...” she dismissed sarcastically.

Jon sighed. Arya had never cared about politics. From the three of his siblings, she seemed to be the only one who hadn’t been lost in contemplation of intrigue and future. Now, he didn’t know if it was a curse or a blessing.

“But that’s not true, is it? What you really wanted was to have her far away from your and your dragon bitch’s happy party.” she sneered finally at him. Jon’s looked in shock at the stranger before him. Arya’s only response was to throw him a sly look and to laugh. It was shrill, almost deranged in its bitterness.

“I accused her of trying to get rid of you, you know? To want the throne for herself. Of course, that how it would have been before. Foolish ambitious Sansa and kind loyal Jon. Should have known yet that we were all something different, now.” the slow ember of deep anger coloured the words and Jon could almost see the ghost of his little sister superimpose on the young woman before him.

Jon tried to reach for her but Arya gracefully avoided his hand. She was fast.He didn’t have the time to be awed, though. She sent him a look full of reproaches and sadness. As he bent his head, she turned away from him and started going away. After a few steps off though, she stopped and turned her head back to him. A cruel streak was painted on her face:

“I have a list Jon. That you and your queen are not on it is only because she begged me not to. But beware. This is winter. You don’t want to be a lone wolf.”

“Arya!” a stern reprimand came from behind them.

They turned to see Sansa, Ghost at her sides, his nose bloody from a recent kill if one could rely on his licking his chops. His eerie stare was difficult to meet, as if Ghost was no longer the pup he’d nursed into a fearsome beast but turned into real life sigil for the trueborn Stark. Strangely, ever since he’d returned to Winterfell, his direwolf had felt no longer his, as if under a spell his sister had spun. Now Jon wondered if that was Ghost who’d betrayed him or if the wolf had shunned him for his betrayal. Still, looking into his beast eyes was easier than looking upon his red haired sister. So he looked at the ground and listened silently to the departure of his little wolf-sister.  
Snow crunched under light feet and he realised that Sansa didn’t depart with Arya. He looked up as she came to him, stalling a few feet before him. Yet, she was regal, her dress once again arranged in that armour of black and grey wool of hers. The knot that would unravel its intricate protection indiscernible in the grey light of winter. Unbidden, the memory of her scarred body flashed between his eyes and he felt shame to realise that each time he did, he felt a little less horrified and little more marvelling at the bravery it revealed. 

There was a sigh from her and finally, she moved again. Sansa, brave Sansa, didn’t leave though. She came and sat next to him. But when months before, there would be companionship between them, even in their little squabbles of their butting heads, now there was a painful distance between them. As if the thread of something had broken and the shadow left in its wake echoed with an aching force. This, he knew, because he experienced it before, was the feeling of trust lost. He’d never thought once that he would be on the other treacherous side of it. Fool that he was, he never imagined that a question could betray and harm as badly as hundreds of knives wounds. Yet, he’d not been punished for his deeds. Tyrion had even said that she’d tightened the Northern Men to his cause. While he should have felt a bit relieved that she took the threat of the Night King seriously, his mind still couldn’t comprehend why she’d spared him. She would probably have made a worthier queen. 

“Why didn’t you do it?” the words surprised him as they escaped the little prison of his thoughts.

There was a sudden stillness beside him and he didn’t dare turn. He didn’t think he would be able to bear her mask of politeness right now. Instead, he let his eyes drift to the ice and snow covered stone. The days had grown cold, so much so that even with his nearness, the silvery tracks of ice didn’t melt, drawing designs that he suddenly ached to trace with his fingers. A weary sigh next to him let him know that she was pondering the question. His beat was echoing loudly in his ears, as if dread could drown him as surely as an ocean. He tried to take a deep breath to reassure his body and caught a fragrance in the wind that was both long lost and familiar. A scent where the elusiveness of sweet and sour were grounded by an undertone of warm fur and wool. It was comforting as nothing else.

“We need you, we need the Mother of Dragons for the fight to come.” she replied slowly, the words careful in what they said and what they didn’t say.

The Wall had fallen, the undead army almost upon them and Sansa knew she didn’t have the military insight to lead the North against the apocalyptic threat. The North needed his experience. The North needed dragons to balance the odds. The North needed and Sansa provided. He shut his eyes at the truth glaring from the shadows of what was left unsaid. We, not I. The North needed, not Sansa. It cut the precarious stability his mood had achieved and the reality of loss pierced his heart. Sansa might not have been his favourite sister, not even really that much of a sister to him. Still, she’d been a constant since he’d come back to life, a presence that had anchored him to the world and given him purpose. To know that there was nothing more mooring her to him and him to her hurt as if he’d cut a limb. 

“Will you ever forgive me?” he asked, his throat raw with deep anguish. A flash of a time when she’d demanded the same of him came back to his mind. He didn’t dare demand, though, didn’t dare to hope that he could still request such a thing from her.

A rustle of skirts next to him and he knew that Sansa was up. He didn’t lift his gaze to her. Instead, he kep taking deep breathes, trying to hoard the elusive fragrance that he’d associated with Winterfell but had been escaping him since his return.

“You are the first who’s asked me for it.” she said softly as she left, the statement outwardly cold but with unplumbed depths. 

Jon smiled sadly but felt more at peace than he had for a long time. Sansa had always held grudges. That she hadn’t straightforwardly denied him her forgiveness was as almost as good as a promise. She left then, the snow crackling under her steps and he finally let his eyes go to her profile as she turned the corner of the pond. There was something otherworldly about her in this scenery, with Ghost trailing after her as if he was a gentle pet. White, grey with just a few drops of deep red to remind him he wasn’t colour-blind. It was beautiful in a sacred way and yet, he couldn’t help the feeling of forlornness that enveloped him anew, only the smell of fresh snow and frozen wood keeping him company.

Never would it have occurred to him that what he was missing was a smell that spoke of lemon cakes savoured as a light treat for long hours spent in the dead of night pouring over books. That spoke of furs that were worn as an armour against cold and male eyes. That spoke of wool and silk that would be knitted then sewn together before adorning loved ones figures. No, this remained unbeknownst to his mind and heart. His soul though, felt painfully the aching hole of its absence.


End file.
